


No Man Left Behind

by Asynca



Series: Ready, Set, Go! - Speed Prompts [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy's POV. Based on a prompt about how vulnerable Mercy is alone, Pharah returns to save Mercy from certain death. Written in 58 minutes originally, but then it turned into porn. Whoops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

We were nearly there! We were in the scrum of the final stretch of our escort, with bullets flying _everywhere_ and everyone _shouting_ , and I could feel it in my bones: we were going to make it!

I'd ducked into a recess to catch my breath and stay out of the line of fire when the noise began to die down. We must have defeated those awful mercenaries that had been sent to stop our escort; what a relief that was, because they'd been a tough bunch. I could hear voices, so I peeked out of the doorway, taking a deep breath and opening my mouth to ask if anyone needed my assistance… just in time to see Reinhardt marching the escort around a corner at least a hundred feet away.

The voices I'd heard didn't belong to my team: the people standing _right in front of me_ with their backs to me and regrouping were _Talon assassins_.

They hadn't seen me.

_Oh, no,_ I thought, hurriedly retreating back into the recess. It was a dead end; the only way out was past them.

Where were my team? Why had they _left_ me here? I wanted to comm them, but I was worried if I so much as _whispered_ those Talon monsters would hear me, and there was no one to resurrect _me_ if they did.

God, what should I do? Should I just wait here and hope for the best? I supposed if they didn't know I was—

"Hey, didn't they have a _healer_ somewhere?" That was _Reaper's_ voice

Someone scoffed. "She probably flitted away with the rest of those _vermin_ ," a voice with a heavy French accent answered. "But I'll get her next go around, don't you worry..."

"Not if I get her first," a deep and muffled voice answered her. I heard the rattling of chains.

_Yes,_ I thought as loudly as possible, _go far, far away and look for me elsewh—_

"No, I didn't see her leave," Reaper decided. The was a long pause. "I think she's still here."

I draw a sharp breath—too sharp, because now I could hear them all _listening._

My hands shaking, I unsheathed my blaster. It would be useless against all of them, but what could I do?

God, where were my team? Where were they? I couldn't do this by my—

" _There_ you are," a dark figure materialised in front of me, blocking me up against the wall. "So we meet again."

"Don't do this, Reyes!" I tried to shout, but he'd already raised his pistols to immediately _fire_ at me—at me, his old colleague!—and it was only because he was taller that I managed to duck under his arm to avoid being shot at point-blank range. I ran out of the recess—crying out for help, I'll admit—and _straight into the rest of his team_. God, there was so many of them, and the only reason they didn't all mow me down in an instant was that they were surprised to see me.

_Terrified_ and with no other option, I turned and _ran_.

They recovered from their shock and soon bullets and shot guns pullets started to zip past my head and, behind me was the heavy _thump thump thump_ and rattle of chains as that _monster_ pig-creature they had tanking for pursued me.

He was going to get me, I realised.

He may have been morbidly obese and horribly unfit, but he was tall, _much_ taller than me. And he was laughing. A horrible, animal-like sound and before I could read a corner, a doorway, a box, _anything_ to get me out of their line of fire _suddenly I was plucked off my feet and rushing through the air and spinning towards—_

_God_ , the horrible creature! His pig-mask bulged and shrank with each breath, and he _stank_ like cigarettes and filth. "Huh, _pretty_ ," was his comment to me before he raised his colossal makeshift gun and aimed it in my face and I was screaming, crying out, struggling, and begging for help from anyone who'd listen and then—

—I was _rushing through the air again_ , but upwards? Upwards by my staff…?

" _Don't let go_!" That was _Pharah's_ voice! " _Rocket barrage incoming_!"

And then the sky _lit up with_ gunpower and rockets and I could hear them whistling through the air and exploding in showers of fireworks all over the ground. The Talon mercenaries were shouting in alarm and fleeing—thank _goodness—_ and by the time she was out of rockets there was no sign of them.

My grip on my staff was slipping because I was shaking so much, but in one clean movement, Pharah lifted me into her arms and we catapulted through the air and _away_ from what had very nearly been my final resting place.

I didn't realise how hard I was breathing until that point. She did. "We thought you'd gone ahead!" she tried to explain. "When I realised you were still back there…"

Her stricken expression was all the apology I needed. "Thank you for coming back for me."

She gave me a surly grin. "I don't leave people behind to get killed."

_That was very nearly what happened,_ I thought, remembering that horrible creature's gun in my face.

She saw my expression, and her arms tightened around me. "I'm going to keep a closer eye on you from now on," she promised me. "I'll take good care of you, because heaven knows you've patched me up enough."

That was actually very comforting. "After the experience I've just had, you can start by buying me a really stiff drink..." I paused. "Or perhaps more than one."

She laughed; I actually couldn't remember if I'd heard her laugh before? It was rather a pleasant sound, and a relief to hear it. "It's a deal," she said as we slowly drifted back towards the ground and the safety of Reinhardt's shield.


	2. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speed prompt, written in 97 minutes. 

 

* * *

That night after dinner, the drink Fareeha ordered me was so strong that a single sip of it had me spluttering. " _Goodness_!" I said hoarsely, my eyes watering.

"Well, you said you wanted a stiff drink," she told me with a wry grin, leaning on the restaurant bar and pouring her own down her throat like it was nothing but water. It was almost painful to watch. "This is what we drank in the army."

I was very much _not_ a soldier, it seemed. "Do they use it as part of the process of breaking you in?" I managed, trying another sip. "Or acclimatising you to _torture_?"

She laughed at that; I quite liked the sound of it. She wasn't often in a good enough mood to laugh so easily, and hearing it set me at ease. Just being around her set me at ease; even if she _wasn't_ able to jet me away at the first sign of trouble wearing only jeans and a dress shirt instead of her Raptora suit.

…not that you could really tell she wasn't wearing it, I joked with myself: her body was so chiselled and her shoulders so broad that she was a slender version of the suit herself anyway. She probably felt like steel as well; I kept finding my eyes wandering downwards to that perfectly flat stomach and wondering if it was hard with musculature. Her thighs certainly were.

_Oh, dear,_ I thought, taking a much larger mouthful of my drink and trying not to admire how she looked in her jeans. _I'm still attracted to her. Not a very good thing for a doctor to realise about her patient…_

She looked impressed by how much I'd just drunk. "We'll make a soldier out of you yet!"

I doubt soldiers were supposed to get involved with one another, either... "I very much doubt that," I told her, coughing as I accidentally took a deep breath of the _fumes_ of it. "If I finish this, you'll have to carry me back to my room by nine o'clock."

She gave her triple shot a critical look and then abandoned it. "Well, then, I suppose I'd better stop here," she said with a grin, putting her cup down and giving the barman a terse headshake when he offered to top her up.

I blinked at her. _Was she…? No, no she probably wasn't. Wishful thinking, Angela_. I took another big mouthful of spirits and then decided I really needed to stay sober. It wouldn't do to get drunk and make a pass at my patient. "No, please finish your drink," I told her. " _I'll_ stop drinking."

She didn't even _look_ at her cup. In fact, she crossed her arms. "Never hurts to be prepared," she told me, flashing me that subtle grin of hers and holding eye-contact with me for just a little too long.

Neither of us looked away.

Oh, dear, I knew what that meant. I was about to get myself into trouble again, wasn't I…?

Heavy footsteps interrupted us; we both jumped and hurriedly looked away from each other. "Well, then, comrades!" Reinhardt's booming voice blasted from behind me as he draped a friendly arm over both our shoulders. "How's all this, fighting together again! The old team, serving the people in the name of _justice_!" He was _drunk_.

Fareeha flinched at that; of course she did. The 'old team' had her mother on it. Neither of us wanted to correct jolly Reinhardt, though, and so we let him bang on about glory and _great deeds_ until he spotted someone else he recognised ' _from the old days!_ ' across the bar and then practically charged over towards them.

"Want to go outside before he comes back?" Fareeha asked me dryly under her breath, and I nodded.

The balcony had been renovated since I'd last been in Gibraltar; it made sense, it had been _years_. The tiles were new—cleaner, I noticed, but the summery night air and beautiful view of the Alborean Sea was exactly the same. How many times had I stood here and looked across it? I knew every jag of that cliff-face. Honestly, Overwatch may have closed some years ago, but sometimes it felt like only yesterday.

I leant my elbows on the thick stone balustrade, looking outward.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Fareeha's voice was quiet as she settled her hip against the stone, watching me. Then, considering that comment, she made a face. "Or a Euro cent, or a credit, or whatever currency they use here now." There was that subtle smile again.

I shook my head and chuckled. "Nothing interesting, just being nostalgic."

"Ah." She looked out across the sea as well; the breeze tussled her hair. "It must have been amazing being stationed here, in a place like this."

I smiled, despite myself. "It was."

She watched me for a moment, and then sighed and looked back out at the coast. "I used to dream of it, you know. Since I was a little girl. Mother showed me photos and I used to imagine standing in the watchtower with a beautiful rifle like hers, ready for anything." She sounded so wistful. "I dreamt of _saving the world_ , of _protecting the innocent_ , of being on posters, myself, so that one day a girl like me would gaze up at her wall at a poster of me and say, 'I want to be _just_ like her'."

I looked across at her, quiet for a moment. "Perhaps you'll get the chance after all."

She laughed a couple of times. She didn't sound convinced. "Perhaps."

I considered the heroic figure she cut in the twilight, even in her civilian clothes. She was an _incredible_ soldier, and a very formidable fighter. "You know, if children knew about you, they would already put posters of you on their walls."

That made her cheeks flush a little. She scoffed. "I'm just doing my job."

I gave her a gentle smile. "Well, you saved my life today, so you're a hero to me."

I don't think she expected me to say something like that, and she looked across at me, a little wide-eyed. I kept smiling at her until she looked away and blushed in earnest. "I'd be dead a dozen times if not for you and your technology."

"We make a great team," I agreed. I reached across the distance between us and put my hand over hers on the balustrade and we locked eyes again.

Goodness, she was _beautiful_. Too beautiful. Her heavy brow, dark features and full lips were positively mesmerising; I could have gazed at them all day.

Those full lips of hers part as she looked at me, and she lifted her hand from mine, turning her hip against the stone so she was facing me. Her fingers traced jawline; my skin sang underneath them. "God, you're beautiful," she murmured, echoing my thoughts. I could see her eyes dipping to my lips.

Oh, dear, I _was_ in trouble…

"I realise it's very unprofessional of me," her voice was barely more than a whisper, "but can I kiss you?"

From the way I was looking at her, I'm sure the answer was obvious. "I'm your doctor," I just felt I should point out anyway, although she was already leaning in towards me and I certainly wasn't going to push her away.

"I don't mind if you don't." Her breath tickled my lips.

"Yes, well, tell that to the medical ethics board when they've finally found a reason to disqualify me…"

"I'm not going to tell them," she murmured. "Are you?"

Was she _kidding_? I'd spent my entire life trying to avoid their scrutiny; I shook my head a fraction. We stood there in the sunset and salt air for a moment, her neck craned down and mine stretched up, our breath mingling and our lips a hair's breath away from one another's before I realised she was waiting for _me_ to bridge the distance. Just in case I _wasn't_ willing to jeopardise my medical licence.

Well, I suppose I'd taken far worse risks in my life, hadn't I?

Standing on my tip-toes, I touched my lips against hers. Gently, at first; but then her arms snaked around my waist and pulled me firmly up to her and soon we were opening out mouths to one another.

Honestly… It was like coming home after a long journey; like _finally_ relaxing into a soft leather chair at the end of a hard day's work. I'd been working around her for so long now that she felt safe and familiar, and kissing her, touching her, felt like applying soothing balm to a muscle I didn't know had been aching.

I brushed the blade of my tongue along hers and she _groaned_ deep in the back of her throat— _god_ , that was erotic—and before I realised my feet had left the ground, I felt the warm stone under my thighs; she'd lifted me up to sit on the balustrade.

I broke away from her for a moment to glance down at the jagged cliffs and crashing waves below me. "Don't let me fall!" I told her, grabbing her hard shoulders as she kissed across my jaw, arms around my waist.

"Never," she murmured into my ear, and then kissed down my neck, and, _goodness_ , I could have _melted_. Her soft lips and wet tongue against my skin made me weak and I _sighed_ , my head lolling to the side and my eyes falling closed. It was a good thing she was holding onto me or I would have fallen backwards into the sea.

I was just hooking my legs around her waist and slipping my fingertips under the base of her shirt—she _did_ have a six-pack hidden under there after all—when a series of horrified gasps interrupted us.

We pulled away from each other, twisting towards the doorway.

Four faces were _staring_ at us—a family of four had brought their food to sit outside on the balcony. The mother, who was probably about my age, did _not_ look impressed.

Erm. We swallowed and disentangled ourselves from each other. "Sorry," I managed as we straightened our clothes.

While we were filing back inside looking ashamed of ourselves, Fareeha leant in towards my ear, her hand hovering by my waist. "The offer still stands to carry you upstairs," she whispered. I could hear the grin in her voice. "Can I buy you another drink…?"


	3. When the War is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note this chapter contains some sexual situations. Skip if that's not your thing :)

Written in 4 hours.

 

* * *

Fareeha _did_ carry me upstairs after all. I wasn't as drunk as I was letting her believe I was—I would have been quite capable of navigating the stairs myself—but I'd been eyeing those muscles of hers all night and wondering if she was strong enough to carry me without her Raptora IV. So, when I did actually genuinely tripped on a chair leg and she caught me before I fell, it seemed like a great opportunity to declare, "Oh, dear. I think that's it for me tonight!"

Her eyes twinkled. She knew what I was doing. "I think I made an offer to help you get there?" Then, in one clean movement, she quite literally swept me off my feet.

I shrieked with laughter; she _was_ strong enough! "Don't drop me!"

She almost looked insulted. "I've carried soldiers, so unless you've got titanium parts under that turtleneck, I'm going to be fine."

"No, just skin under here," I told her with a smile, looping my wrists around her neck to help support myself in her arms. "All skin."

We locked eyes again, and I watched her cheeks go a little pink under that deep tan of hers. I knew what she was thinking, and seeing it on her face was _hot_. She cleared her throat. "I was going to say 'looks like we're safe, then', but I think I'm pretty far from safe."

Oh, god, so was I. Those strong legs of hers that were walking easily up these stairs like she _wasn't_ carrying a 60kg woman in her arms… I was having all sorts of unsavoury thoughts about her pulling me into her lap to straddle them. Pulling off my top. Cupping my breasts. I think by the time we reached my room I may have been blushing a little myself, and not because of the alcohol.

She had to put me down so I could unlock the door. Then she stood a little awkwardly at it, clearly not sure if she was welcome in or not. "Erm," she said, looking uncomfortable. "Sleep well."

I scoffed. "Oh, don't be ridiculous!" I told her, and pulled her inside.

What I _should_ have done as a good host was to offer her another glass of wine, perhaps invite her to enjoy the lovely view from my balcony, and engage in some light conversation before we eventually ended up in my bed.

I've never been a particularly good host, though, and after all those illicit fantasies I'd been having on the stairs, what I _actually_ did was immediately pull her down to kiss me. She _groaned_ into my mouth and pulled me flat against her. I could feel her hard stomach against mine, how firmly she was kissing me back and when I peeked through my eyelashes, I could see her dark brow was knit in concentration. God, it was hot. _She_ was hot, and we were finally alone.

There was no one to hide from here, was there? I began to unbutton her shirt; I wanted at that stomach. She let me, releasing me momentarily to shrug it off. The warm, ripping muscles under my fingertips were too inviting for just my hands—I stopped frantically kissing her for a moment to bend and kiss her stomach. Her muscles bunched underneath my lips; she gasped. "Careful, I'm ticklish!"

I had to laugh at that; I never would have thought someone so surly would be ticklish. I teased her a little by running my fingertips lightly over my skin until she squirmed helplessly and tried to catch my hands. She smiled so much I could see all her teeth; she had a beautiful smile. I kissed it again.

It was dizzying kissing her while I was tipsy; I loved the sensation of my head swimming and her lips moving against mine as I felt like I was falling through space. She wasn't as drunk as I was, though; she wouldn't let me fall. It was like flying with her, right here. I felt so safe in her arms.

Her hands were shyer than mine; I had to guide them to my hips, my breasts—even when I placed them there she was hesitant, like she wasn't sure what she was allowed to do.

I pulled away from her lips to whisper, "Don't be so shy," in her ear and to pull off my own turtleneck and toss it somewhere beside the door.

Her eyes went straight to my breasts—I was wearing a new pearl-coloured bra, and I suppose they probably looked quite nice—and she exhaled forcefully as she drank it all in. I watched her ribs pulse as she breathed heavily, her lips automatically parting. She couldn't look away. "You're drunk," she told me, and she was right. "I feel like it's my duty to protect you against people like me right now…"

I laughed once, my fingertips creeping up underneath her black sports bra. "Yes, well, I'm not supposed to have private relationships with patients," I told her. "It's a terrible breach of _my_ duty."

"What are we doing, then?" she asked, still staring at my breasts. There was an urgency about her, like an overfilled balloon on the brink of exploding.

"I don't know," I told her, beyond caring about it. I'd lived through too many battles and wars to think _this_ was something serious. "But if you'd keep doing it, I'd appreciate that." While she was watching me, I reached behind my back and undid my bra, letting it fall away from my breasts.

The balloon in her finally popped, and she scooped me up in her arms, dumping me on my back on the bed and climbing on top of me. In a second she had a mouthful of one of my breasts, her dark lips a sharp contrast against my pale pink nipples. Hardly able to breathe, myself, I watched her lips and tongue moving on them and felt the hum of her throat as she groaned at the pleasure of it. She couldn't get enough of them, and watching her struggle to try was _so erotic_. I was jelly in her hands.

I wanted her mouth all over me. I wanted to listen to the sounds she'd make if mine was all over hers. I wanted to listen to her dry, _sexy_ voice. "Say something," I whispered to the top of her head.

She released my breast to look up at me. She was grinning. "Something."

I put a hand on my forehead, sighing heavily. We needed to work on that sense of humour of hers. "Just talk. I want to listen to your voice."

She finished snickering and kissed up my across my collarbone so her lips arrived at my ear. "Alright." I hummed with anticipation about all the dirty, illicit things she might be about to say in that delicious accent, but what she _actually_ said was, "I know I'm a soldier. I know what I do is fight and that's my job. But I don't want to fight forever, I want a happily ever after."

I opened my eyes. I hadn't been expecting that. Suddenly, I was reminded that I was about to have sex with a close friend and colleague—someone I actually cared quite a lot about—and not just someone I'd picked up in a bar. "How do you mean?"

She made a neutral noise. Her breath tickled my ear as she kept speaking. "I want all the wars to be over because we won them. And then I want to live in peace somewhere pretty, and I want to have a family again. A real family."

By her saying it right now, the implication was so loud it was almost as if she'd actually said it: _and if we do this, I want you to know that that's what I'm looking for with you_.

I'd never expected it of her. To be honest, I'd never even expected to have a family at all; not that I was even sure I still _could_ have one, with all of the medical experiments I'd done on myself. I could never have one while I was fighting and putting my life at risk, anyway. I couldn't do that to my children after what happened to my own parents. But if the tensions and wars were over…?

But for a moment, it painted such a beautiful picture in my mind: mountains; a tiny house in the foothills. Smoke in a chimney, a table set for four. Fareeha singing in Arabic and chopping firewood outside in gumboots, and me in my little home lab, working on something while the children scribbled pictures on their tablets. Peace at last; a family, a _real_ _family_ at last. I could barely remember what that felt like, to feel _part_ of people like that. To have people feel part of me.

Unexpectedly, it brought tears to my eyes. I tried to blink them away. "That's beautiful."

She was silent for a moment, her lips dipping to my neck and kissing me there. My damp eyelashes fell shut, and I wrapped my arms around her neck. Eventually, she said, "I'm sorry. You were probably expecting me to say something sexy."

I was, but now that she'd said it, I couldn't imagine anything more perfect than sharing a wish for the future with her. It _was_ sexy, in a way. Not in a clothes-tearing-off-hips-grinding way, but in a subtler, more gentle way: I _liked_ that picture. I wanted to be part of that dream; to give myself to her. I want to listen to the sounds I elicited from her as we made love, and I wanted her to take me somewhere else, somewhere far away. To a place where everything was beautiful and no one suffered anymore.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to promise her she could have her dream, and that at least one of her dreams could finally come true. "Maybe one day we can…" I told her, hearing the waver in my voice.

Her eyes softened and she cupped my jaw with a kind of desperation that I'd rarely seen in her. "Don't say that if you don't mean it." I think her voice was harsher than she'd intended it to be.

I'd seen enough pain to not want to cause it in people myself. "I never do."

Her breath caught in her throat and then she _kissed_ me. She kissed me with all of her body and all of her soul, and I felt like we might already be in that beautiful little cottage in the mountains. Our war might already be over.

At some point her bra sports bra came off and she lay on top of me, chest to chest, her hard stomach and soft breasts such a contrast against my skin. We kicked out jeans off, too: wriggling out of our underwear and climbing under the covers of my bed, our legs intertwining and our hands exploring each other. I loved how our breasts fell together; I love how the contrast of her dark skin and my light skin looked as I peered down between us. Her very dark nipples and my pale ones; the small tuft of black hair between her legs and the white-blonde of mine.

It wasn't long before I began to wonder how she tasted and began to imagine finding out, and I lay her on her back, kissing down her body towards that black I'd seen earlier.

She stopped me. "Stay here," she murmured, lifting me back up her until we were giving each other big, open kisses again.

I leant away from a moment. "But I want to…" I glanced down.

In answer, she took one of my hands and guided it between her legs. "Like this," she told me, and then put a hand on either side of my jaw to kiss me.

The skin between her legs was warm, and as I pressed downwards, deeper into it, I realised how wet she was. She pressed her hips up into my hand as I began to draw slow, lazy circles against her—and the _sounds_ she was making…

I could feel her eyelashes fluttering against my cheeks and when I opened my eyes, she was watching me.

_You're so beautiful_ , I thought, as our mouths moved together. 'Beautiful' felt like such an empty word, though; it wasn't enough for what she was. In my head, I could hear her valiantly telling me, ' _I will protect the innocent_!' and I could remember the completely earnest expression she had as she told me that. She meant it with every fibre of her being, and 'beautiful' wasn't a strong enough word for her.

As the circles I was making on her got faster, her breath got shorter; her kisses more erratic and eventually she could hardly move her mouth at all. She watched me, mouth open, her hands on my cheeks. They could have been anywhere; groping my breasts, feeling the shape of my hips or cupping my ass, but they were on either side of my face as she gazed into my eyes. She wanted me to be right there with her, and I was, _I was_. Even though she could barely move her mouth I kissed at it anyway, her breath hot and fast against my lips.

Her hips pressed against my hand. Her legs kicked at the covers, tangling them. Her thick muscles shook and her body tensed and then she was _crying out_ against my lips, holding my face against hers, her eyes never moving from mine. It was like _music_ hearing those sounds; I was smiling into her lips. I _loved_ seeing her strong body like this; I _loved_ experiencing the other things she could do with it. I loved being part of this side of her.

Soon, her breath slowed and her body relaxed and she was kissing me again; gentle kisses. Nuzzling me. Kissing my cheeks and chin, with her arms wrapped tightly around my back.

I was still smiling, and she pulled away for a moment to observe it. It made her smile, too. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," I told her automatically, and then laughed. "Well, yours…!"

"No, _yours_ ," she corrected me with a grin, and like a true combat professional, flipped me over onto my back in a clean movement, and then spent a minute or two with her hands holding my breasts together so she could bury her face in them. I laughed at her enthusiasm, but it quickly faded as she released them and kissed down along the centre of my stomach until my bare legs were over her shoulders and her face was between them.

She didn't put her mouth to me straight away, though, no: she kissed the inside of my thighs, breathed warm air across all my exposed skin down there, and she _watched_ me. Those dark eyelashes and that Eye of Horus tattoo, staring up at me, revelling in my vulnerability. It was _sexy_. Then, she slowly lowered her mouth against my lips and—

— _God_. I think I did something embarrassing like groan her name, I'm sure I did. I could barely look down my body because she was looking up mine, and just the sight of her dark lips against me, her black hair falling against my white skin and her _looking_ up at me— _god_ , it was too much. It was too much. That, and the sight and _feeling_ of her tongue swirling around—I had to close my eyes, it was too intense.

Even with my eyes closed, I could barely manage. My skin was _on fire_ , her lips felt like silk and when her mouth began to move rhythmically against me, it was all I could do to take handfuls of the blankets around up and not _cry out_ loudly enough to disturb other guests.

In the middle of this, in the middle of trying not to fall completely apart into a writhing, shouting mess at her lips, I felt one of her hands creep up the bed and find mine. When it did, she laced our fingers together, her thumb stroking the side of my hand.

It was such a small gesture, but I found it so touching. It took me back to that place I'd pictured before; that cottage. Our happily ever after, and—and just the thought of lying on _our_ bed, with _our_ patchwork quilt, _our_ bedside tables and birds someone outside _our_ window—I couldn't—

—us making love there, in peace, our suffering over and—it was beautiful, it was so beautiful. My chest _swelled_ with that feeling, with— _god_ , with _her_ and _us_ —her looking up at me, just like she was now, and—

—and then I—

—and then _my_ legs were shaking and I was _begging_ her not to stop and _begging_ her to keep going, just a little bit longer, just a little bit longer—

—and then it was _my_ voice crying out, _my_ hand cupping her cheek as her mouth moved against me and _my_ body curling towards her and writhing around on the bedsheets.

When I lay still, she stopped, kissing back up my body before wiping her mouth on the blankets and kissing my lips. She hovered there for a moment, propped over me as we kissed, before she moved to lie beside me, gentle fingertips brushing my fringe away from my face.

"I've want to do that for a long time," she quietly confessed.

I chuckled. "Yes, well, I've wanted you to do that for a rather long time, too," I told her brightly.

She smiled, but it looked wistful. It was a moment before she spoke. "You were crying before."

My smile faded, and I swallowed. "Oh, it's nothing to worry about."

She didn't press me further, but she did kiss me again, slowly and carefully. I turned towards her, our spent bodies and warm skin falling together again. I loved how it felt being naked with her.

After a few minutes, she lay back again, giving me a lazy smile. "Don't you dare break my heart," she told me with a deceptively casual tone.

I scoffed. "I'm a doctor," I told her with a smile. "I mend hearts, I don't break them."

She rolled her eyes at me, and we lay there together for the rest of the night; kissing, talking, dozing, sometimes. When we'd climbed the stairs I'd expected not much more than a roll in the hay with her, but I'd come out with something else entirely.

With a piece of her heart and soul, and, quite unexpectedly, a dream—a fantasy—for what our future might hold when our fight was finally over.


End file.
